


Adrift In Time

by hero_of_the_wild



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hero_of_the_wild/pseuds/hero_of_the_wild
Summary: For 100 years, Zelda has battled Ganon, holding it prisoner in Hyrule Castle and hiding Link's presence from it as he sleeps, healing from the mortal wounds he suffered during the Calamity. But when Link awakens, Ganon senses him, and bursts forth from its cocoon, half-formed and lusting for the Hero's blood. Memory wiped clean, acting only on instinct, Link manages to defeat Ganon's body- but it vanishes beneath the earth, biding its time until it can re-emerge. Link flees into the wilderness, leaving Zelda alone to come up with a new plan to seal Calamity Ganon away for good. But without the Hero of Legend and the Sword That Seals The Darkness, how can Zelda hope to succeed?





	1. Apocalypse Drea,s

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you in advance for reading, and I hope you enjoy the first three chapters of Adrift in Time. I am currently working as well as studying for finals, so chapter four will be posted hopefully on Friday May 3rd, if not sooner. After that, a new chapter will be posted every Friday. Please give me feedback and comments! I would love to hear what you think.

** Adrift in Time **

**Chapter 1- Apocalypse Dreams**

_ Year of Bosphoramus 122 (?), 23rd Day of Romani _ _. _

_I have been staring at this blank page for a few hours now. The sun has set and the moon has risen, and yet all I can do is sit here as time slips by._

_I intend to begin a new journal. My father told me it is of great importance for the monarchs of Hyrule to keep one for historical records—so that those who live centuries after we have passed can glean wisdom from us. But I fear that I simply have no wisdom to offer._

    Zelda took a deep breath, dipping the nib of her quill into the inkpot resting on the ornate wooden desk she sat at. To recollect her thoughts, she quickly catalogued the room around her: the hearth with a carved Sheikah eye above it. The red curtains covering the window that, when drawn back, would allow her a view of Kakariko Village’s Goddess Statue and the warriors standing guard by the entrance to the house. The sleeping mat in the corner by the hearth, blankets still undisturbed. Zelda closed her eyes, and then set the nib to the paper once again.

    _It has been eight days since I arrived in Kakariko Village. A young man brought me here. A trader, I think—he carried his goods to allow me to ride on his donkey. I wish I had asked for his name._

_I could scarcely believe that the village was so unchanged. It was as if it has been suspended in time during the Calamity. Adding to this sense of stasis was when I entered the gate and Impa greeted me—only it was not Impa, but her granddaughter. To my relief, I found that Impa is still alive, but so weathered by age that I scarcely recognised her. She asked me to explain what had happened…_

Several tears splashed onto the ink, blurring it.

    _Ganon emerged early. It sensed Link’s awakening, and I could not keep it from breaking free. Thankfully, the body it had been trying to create was incomplete, and Link disposed of it with ease. But Ganon… I cannot describe it. I could not seal it away, because it vanished before I could. I can still feel it whispering to me when I try to sleep._

Her writing grew more frantic, the elegant loops devolving into barely-legible scribbles.

    _Link did not know me. There was nothing behind his blue eyes—no spark of familiarity. It was as if I was looking into a dead man’s face. He behaved like an animal as he fought the Calamity, defeating it through sheer instinct. When I approached him, he fled towards the Applean Forest, leaving me alone in the ruins of my former home. I can only wonder if I made a mistake by putting him into the Resurrection Shrine. Did I really save his life if he has no sense of humanity or the life he led before?_

Zelda reached for the inkpot, bumping it with her knuckles. The pot tipped and smashed onto the floorboards, seeping into the grain. “ _Hylia,_ ” Zelda hissed, tearing out a page of her journal. She did her best to blot away the slivers of glass and ink, but a black stain remained.

    A gentle knock came at the doorframe. “Your Highness? Are you alright?”

    “Yes,” said Zelda, exasperated. “I broke the inkpot.”

    A young, slim girl pushed aside the curtain covering the entrance to Zelda’s room. It struck Zelda once again how much Impa’s granddaughter resembled her—Paya had the same kind, soft brown eyes and heart-shaped face, although she stood a little taller than Impa ever had. She even styled her silvery hair the same way Impa had when she was young: half up in a knot atop her head. Paya knelt by the ink stain, carefully scrubbing the floorboards with a scrap of linen. Her cheeks were pink, which Zelda had grown used to by now. She had never known a young woman to be so bashful.

    “I really ought to be more careful,” said Zelda apologetically. “I’m not usually this clumsy…”

    “Oh, it’s really nothing, y-your Highness!” Paya shrilled, scrubbing even more furiously. “I haven’t exactly been k-keeping your room clean as it is. If you’d like, I can also turn your bedding for you before you…” She trailed off, noticing that the blankets were untouched.

    Zelda rubbed her wrists uncomfortably, making sure to close the journal before Paya could see her ramblings. “No, thank you. That’s quite alright.”

    Paya bit her lip as she stood, gripping the ink-stained linen in both hands. “F-forgive me for being so forward… but have you gotten much sleep, Princess?”

    None at all. Zelda could not close her eyes for more than a few minutes before she could hear Ganon murmuring to her in its arcane language that drove her to the edge of madness for so many years. She dropped her eyes, gripping her biceps.

    Paya let out a squeak. “M-my apologies, Princess. It’s really n-not my business, but Purah asked me to check in…”

    Zelda let out a sigh. Purah, too, had been a surprise. While Zelda had expected Impa to be old and withered after one hundred years, if even still alive, nothing could have prepared her for the fact that her sister Purah had somehow become a child again. As she’d taken Zelda’s vitals, she had cheerfully informed her of the reverse-aging experiment that really, as Purah pointed out, had succeeded—although she hadn’t meant to become six years old.

    “Does Purah have any news about the Shrine of Resurrection or the Sheikah Slate?”

    Paya shook her head, turning even pinker. “Not yet. Until we find Master Link, she has no way of reopening the shrine or retrieving the Slate. Without a diagnostic of Master Link’s mental capacities or a way to examine the shrine, all she can do is hypo… hyp…”

    “Hypothesise.”

    Paya turned an even deeper shade of pink. “Y-yes.”

    Zelda pulled back the curtain covering the window, peering out into the night. The guards were just changing shifts, their white clothing seeming to glow in the moonlight. Nearby, she knew, were Sheikah ninjas, dressed in dark armour designed to muffle all sound. They were there only because of her.

    But who was she now, really? Her title of Princess was meaningless after one hundred years—bitterly, she recalled, the rumours of her being an “heir to a throne of nothing” had come true. The Hylians she supposedly now ruled were scattered in camps and stables throughout the wilderness, and the other races had already considered the royal family more of a figurehead even one hundred years ago.

    Zelda let the curtain fall, realising that Paya was still there and had spoken to her. “I’m sorry—can you repeat that?”

    Paya clasped her hands, wringing them above her chest. “Um… if you don’t wish to retire yet… Would you like some tea, Princess?”

    “Yes, please.”

    She followed the Sheikah girl downstairs to the simple kitchen, taking a seat on one of the cushions at the low table. She watched as Paya filled the kettle from the faucet before placing in into the coals of the kitchen hearth. The faucet was something new to her since she’d returned. Before, to have water for drinking or bathing, servants at the castle would hurry to one of the wells and use a lever to pump the water to the surface. But now, as Impa had bemusedly shown her, all that had to be done to access water was turn a small handle and the water would flow effortlessly. Zelda intended to examine it further and figure out how exactly it worked.

    “…Have there been any updates on sir Link’s whereabouts?” she asked. Her voice croaked, raspy like an old woman’s.

    The kettle began to whistle, and Paya removed it from the embers, using a small quilted cloth to protect her hand as she poured water into the teapot. “Not that I’ve heard, your Highness. I’m sorry.”

    The scent of dried blue nightshade petals filled the small kitchen as Paya sprinkled them into the pot, already making Zelda’s eyelids droop. Maybe this tea would be exactly what she needed to get some rest.

    After a few minutes, Paya handed Zelda a china cup, steepling her long fingers around the rim to avoid burning herself. Zelda gratefully accepted it, blowing gently on it before taking a sip. Ruefully, she realised that she still held out her pinky finger when holding a teacup. Even one hundred years was not enough to erase the court etiquette ingrained into her.

    She became aware that Paya was standing stiffly in the corner of the room, eyes averted. Despite herself, Zelda felt a smile twitching at her lips. It reminded her of how the scullery maids behaved whenever she would enter a room.

    “Please sit down, Paya,” she said kindly. “Aren’t you going to have any tea?”

    Paya spluttered, turning red as the hearth coals. “W-well… if you don’t m-mind my company…”

    “My only company for the last one hundred years has been Calamity Ganon. I am _desperate_ for some company.”

    Pursing her lips, Paya poured herself a cup of tea, settling down on the cushion across the table from Zelda. After a moment’s consideration, Zelda leaned back, splaying out her legs under the table in a decidedly un-princess-like but far more comfortable position. The pinky, however, stayed out. She noticed as Paya stifled a giggle, and she grinned more broadly.

    “My father would have been appalled to see me like this,” said Zelda, chuckling. “I distinctly remember being forced to eat supper with a pile of books on top of my head so that I would learn proper posture.”

    Paya smiled, taking a sip of tea. “Grandmother did the same to me—although I had to balance them while also throwing knives. Oh!” She blushed, turning her eyes to the floor. “M-my apologies, your Highness. I didn’t mean to brag.”

    “That’s quite alright.” Zelda regarded her curiously—Paya didn’t strike her as a fighter. “Do all Sheikah learn to handle weapons?”

    “Well, yes. I believe it’s a tradition from when we were the protectors of the royal family. When Sheikah children turn nine years old, we learn how to use a bow and a knife, as well as how to conceal ourselves.” Paya squeaked a little, then cleared her throat. “S-sorry. I’m just not used to talking about myself, your Highness.”

    “Just Zelda, please. I don’t imagine I’m much in the way of royalty anymore.”

    “Oh.” The tips of Paya’s ears went pink. “Very well… Z-Zelda.”

    “You can ask me questions, if you’d like. I’m sure you must be as curious about me as I am of you.” As soon as she offered, she regretted it. What would Paya ask? Would she ask what it was like to be so intimately close to the beast? Would she ask how it felt to finally unseal her divine power? What multitude of unanswerable questions lay before her, not just from Paya but from the hundreds of other curious people she would encounter in her lifetime?

    The saucer rattled against Paya’s cup as her hands trembled. Strangely, it calmed Zelda’s mind to know that Paya was even more nervous than she. “W-well, I was wondering… if it’s not too intrusive to ask…”

    Zelda braced herself, holding her cup more tightly.

    “What was sir Link like? You know, b-before the Calamity?”

    Dozens of images scrambled for purchase in Zelda’s mind. That stupid grin after he’d make a terrible pun. The warmth in his eyes while he’d soothe an anxious horse, sneaking it an extra carrot. The way he could make a meal better even than all the chefs at Hyrule Castle out of just some roasted squirrel meat and scavenged mushrooms. That day he spent an entire afternoon braiding grass and flowers into a crown for his sister—and then he’d surprised Zelda with one of her own. Somewhere in the memory banks of the lost Sheikah Slate, there was a picture of her and Aryll together wearing them.

    Aryll would have been in Castle Town the day that Ganon had returned.

    Zelda felt the grief like a physical thing, settling in her throat, in her shoulders. She clutched the cup so hard she feared she might crack the delicate porcelain.

    Paya’s brown eyes were wide with worry. “Your High—I mean, Z-Zelda. I didn’t mean t-to upset you—”

    “No, it’s alright.” Zelda wiped away a tear with the heel of her hand, composing herself. “Link was a very dear friend. It hurts to know that he may not recover his true self.”

    Paya nodded, and now it was Zelda’s turn to avoid eye contact. “I understand.”

    They sat in silence for a while. Zelda’s tea had gone cold, so Paya refreshed it for her. Zelda found it in herself to share a short story about the time she and Link had lost Aryll in the marketplace, only to find her trying to haggle with one of the Sheikah scientists over his telescope. Zelda had ended up giving her one from her study…

    “More tea, Zelda?”

    Zelda smiled—no stumbling over her name this time. She yawned, remembering just in time to cover her mouth. “No, thank you. I think it’s done its work.”

    Paya carefully poured the remainder of the pot’s contents into the fireplace, extinguishing the coals. After replacing the pot to its place on one of the many shelves lining the wall, she turned, clasping her hands.

    “What is it, Paya?”

    Paya stuck out her lower lip a little as she hesitated, almost making Zelda laugh out loud—it was a look she’d seen on Impa’s face many times. “I w-was just thinking that maybe the reason you can’t sleep is because you’re alone. Like you said, your only company has been C-Cal… Cala…” She let out a little squeak. “I-I’m sorry. I just wanted to say that you’re welcome to share my bedroom if you think that would help you sleep better.”

    Perhaps it was simply because it had been so long since she’d felt genuine kindness, but Zelda found herself nearly moved to tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, throat tight. “I think I may take you up on your offer.”

    It was the first dreamless sleep she’d had in more than one hundred years.


	2. An Empty Throne

**Chapter Two- An Empty Throne**

    Zelda slept until the late afternoon, not waking until a sliver of sunlight made it through the heavy curtains to pierce her eyelids. She sat up slowly, groaning as her stiff joints crackled. It took her a moment to remember where she was—for a blissful second, she’d almost believed she was back in her childhood bedroom, about to be greeted by her nursemaid, Telma. She forced herself to stand, yawning so widely that her jaw popped.

    Paya had thoughtfully left a set of Sheikah whites hanging from the low ceiling supports, as well as a washbasin set by the foot of her bed. Zelda peeled off her sweaty nightgown and washed as quickly as possible—the water had gone cold. She dressed herself in the whites and was in the process of detangling her long hair with a bone comb when a gentle knock came at the door.

    Without waiting for an answer, Impa entered. She was far less formidable now than when Zelda had first seen her—without her wide, conical hat, she seemed much smaller and weaker. Her shriveled face broke into a toothy grin.

    “I’d been wondering if I’d have to wait another hundred years for you to wake, Princess.”

    Zelda smiled sheepishly. Even under all the weathered lines and ridges in Impa’s face, her warm eyes were exactly as she remembered them. “My apologies,” she said, embracing the frail old woman. “Paya’s nightshade tea certainly did its work.”

    “Come downstairs and have something to eat, my dear. We have much to discuss.”

    After Paya had ladled Zelda a generous portion of potato and leek soup, Impa informed her of a clandestine meeting of Sheikah elders that would be taking place that evening to discuss the future of Hyrule.

    “There are several steps we must take towards defeating Ganon,” Impa explained. “For one, we must recover the Master Sword. It was lost shortly after Link—”

    “I hid it,” Zelda supplied, wiping a bit of broth from the corner of her mouth. “I asked the Deku Tree to watch over it.”

    “That was wise. But the question of whether Link will be able to wield it once again remains.”

    Zelda poked at a potato, watching it turn over in her bowl. That was not something she had considered. Even without his memory, he still had the soul of the Hero, didn’t he? But his eyes had been so empty…

    They had to find a way into the Resurrection Shrine. Only then could they know what in Hylia’s name had been done to him.

...

    The meeting took place outdoors, to Zelda’s surprise. She, Impa, and the head of Impa’s personal guard, Dorian, were escorted out of Kakariko Village by a company of silent, black-clad Sheikah ninjas. The air was cool and slightly damp, which Zelda greatly preferred to the dry, dusty heat of Impa’s home. As they left the village behind and started up a steep path, fireflies began to emerge, casting everything in an ethereal green glow.

    At the crest of the hill stood a shrine, one of many that had been excavated across Hyrule. There were more than one hundred of them, of unknown purpose. Curiously, this one now shone with a rich orange light, illuminating the whorls carved into the stone. Was this a reaction to Ganon’s emergence?

    They continued past the shrine, passing beneath an archway and into a thick cluster of trees. The forest was alive with bioluminescence from various flowers and mushrooms. For a moment, Zelda thought she saw a glowing white-blue rabbit nosing through a patch of nightshade, but it vanished as soon as she blinked. She glanced over at Impa, who leaned heavily on Dorian’s arm.

    “Why aren’t we simply meeting in your home, Impa? Or elsewhere in the village?”

    “Too many… eavesdroppers,” Impa panted. “These talks are… too important to risk… rumourmongers.”

    In the distance, flashes of flickering torchlight grew steadier as they approached a small, burbling creek. There were even more ninjas on the other side of the bridge—Zelda could not recall being this heavily guarded since the Champion’s Inauguration one hundred years ago.

    At last, they reached a clearing. A stone platform, glowing orange like the shrine, was the centre of a small circle of people dressed in Sheikah whites. Purah she recognised, but there was also an old man with wild hair and a young woman no older than Paya by his side. They both stared wide-eyed at Zelda as she sat on one of the provided cushions circling the platform.

    “In Hylia’s name,” huffed Impa as Dorian helped her sit down. “Must you choose locations that might as well require climbing to the peak of Mount Lanayru?”

    Purah shrugged, her eyes guileless behind her round spectacles. “You wanted secrecy. It isn’t my fault you’ve become an old crone.”

    “We’re all here now and that’s what matters,” said the old man, before Impa could retort. “Princess, it is marvelous to see you in such good health after everything you’ve been through.”

    “Thank you,” Zelda murmured, staring down at her lap. “May Hylia watch over you.”

    “And you as well, your Highness. My name is Robbie—I was one of the top scientists specialising in Guardians before the Calamity. This is my wife, Jerrin—”

    “Enough introductions,” Impa interrupted. “Our time is short.”

    “Indeed,” said Dorian. It was the first time Zelda had heard him speak—his voice was low and pleasant. “I thought I might begin with good news—a possible sighting of sir Link.”

    Murmurs broke out as Zelda’s heart leapt. “Where exactly?”

    “A barmaid at Wetland Stable spotted a young man with no shirt, torn trousers, and shoulder-length hair wandering near the Bottomless Swamp. When she called out to him, he fled towards Eagus Bridge and she lost sight of him.”

    “Take a few men tomorrow morning and investigate,” Impa ordered.

    “I will go as well,” said Zelda. All eyes turned towards her.

    “Absolutely not,” said Impa, not unkindly. “You are the future queen of Hyrule. We cannot possibly expose you to any unnecessary risks.”

    “Queen?” Zelda repeated, aghast. There had been no queen of Hyrule since her mother’s demise, and Zelda had never felt inclined to rule. Her strengths lay with machinery and scholarly research rather than politics. The last time she’d even been tutored in the various fields necessary to become a governor of a kingdom was when she was six years old—before unlocking her sealing power had taken top priority.

    Purah let out a low whistle. “Way to break it to her, sis.”

    “How am I to become queen?” Zelda demanded, hearing her voice become higher-pitched. “What kingdom is left for me to rule?”

    “Your people still live, Princess.” Impa folded her hands in her lap, frustratingly calm. “They need you.”

    “They need a qualified ruler, if one at all! They’ve been without a monarch for a century, scattered across Hyrule—”

    “Yes, they are scattered. As queen, you will serve as the rallying point.” Impa sighed, shaking her head. “Hyrule needs stability and unity. You will bring the realm back together and allow it to heal at last.”

    Zelda shook her head. “The other races will not accept my rule. Even a century ago, the Rito never—”

    “Princess, I must insist—”

    “Stop it!”

    Purah’s high shrill cut through the night. Silence fell as the girl climbed atop the glowing pedestal, fists clenched and eyebrows furrowed.

    “Snappity snap, you’re both acting even more childish than me!” Zelda felt her cheeks burn, and she dropped her gaze. “This isn’t even what we came here to talk about!”

    “She’s right,” said Jerrin softly. “I don’t see any point in appointing a queen if the realm is still threatened and she does not wish to take the throne. We must focus on finding a way to seal Ganon away… permanently.”

    Ice crept up Zelda’s back as something whispered in her ear in a language she could not comprehend. She shivered, earning a curious look from Dorian.

    “The Divine Beasts and Guardians are still corrupted by Calamity Ganon,” Robbie explained as Purah retook her seat. “Without them, I don’t believe we have a fighting chance. I considered an attempt to capture a live Guardian…”

    Zelda allowed her focus to shift away from the conversation and inwards instead. The Divine Beasts had been her specialty, her passion—every hour that she was not praying or doing fieldwork on the shrines was spent studying maps of the colossal machine’s inner workings. Daruk of the Gorons had even joked that Zelda should have been the one piloting Vah Rudania, as she knew more about it than all four Champions and the Sheikah scientists put together…

    “What if I reclaimed the Divine Beasts?”

    Robbie’s eyes nearly bulged out. “Pardon me, Princess?”

    Trying to get everything out before Impa interrupted her, Zelda hurried to explain: “Each Beast has a central control unit that allowed the pilot to mentally connect with the machine. Once they got the hang of it, the pilot could control the Divine Beast as easily as their own body. I recall that each control unit had a pedestal designed for the Sheikah Slate—like the shrines. It must be designed as an emergency override system.”

    Purah was the first to catch on. “So if you had a Sheikah Slate…”

    “I could override the control unit and take the Divine Beasts back from Ganon.”

    The idea seemed to shimmer in the air like a bubble. Their last hope, so fragile it could burst at any second.

    “Why must it be you who completes this task?” asked Jerrin. “Wouldn’t it be easier to send someone else into the bowels of the Beasts?”

    “I know the most out of anyone about them,” said Zelda breathlessly. “I don’t wish to brag, but it’s the truth—all the pilots all have fallen. Frankly, I would trust no one but myself for this mission.”

    Purah chuckled. “Seems like a plan to me. Get Linky and the Slate back, retake the Beasts and poof—no more Ganon.”

    “It will not be that easy,” said Impa crossly. “There is too much that could go wrong.”

    “But it’s the only plan we’ve got,” Purah pointed out. The others were nodding in agreement.

    Impa’s brow deeply furrowed, warping the blue tattoo of a Sheikah eye on her forehead. “If this is the only way, so be it. But the Princess must have a guard.”

    Purah thrust her tiny arm into the air. “All in favour?” she chirped.

    The motion passed unanimously.


	3. Eyes of Malice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Many thanks for all of the kudos I've been receiving.
> 
> I just realised now that I'd forgotten to upload Chapter 3. My apologies, and here it is. Chapter 4 should be ready by May 3rd.

**Chapter 3- Eyes of Malice**

_ Year of Bosphoramus 122, 1st Day of Nayru _

_Much has happened since my last entry. I have been relieved of my hair, a company of Sheikah men have a lead on Link’s whereabouts, and most importantly—I have begun preparations for my quest to reclaim the Divine Beasts._

_Without the Sheikah Slate that Link possesses, there is nothing to do but endlessly plan and revise—an unending process that keeps me awake long into the night. I have been troubled by nightmares of late—ones I cannot recall upon waking except a sense of unease and something murmuring into my ear._

_I have decided to go to Zora’s Domain first, making Divine Beast Vah Ruta my first target. There have been reports of travelers being driven back by torrential downpours. Even from the village, I can see ominous black clouds hanging over the Domain. Ruta has the power to produce near endless amounts of water, so I fear that it may have something to do with the mysterious storm._

_Precautions have been taken to prepare for my journey. The trader who brought me here was sworn to secrecy about my identity—but it seems that regardless, rumours of a princess of old awakening and “walking among us” have spread through Dueling Peaks Stable and surrounding areas. Both Impa and Purah advised me to disguise myself… and the easiest way to do so was to cut off my distinctive golden hair. I feel naked without it and avoid mirrors whenever possible._

_Paya has been tasked with tutoring me in defensive skills. I was hesitant at first, as Link has tried many times to do the same with rather unfavourable results (thank Hylia that Mipha was readily available with her healing ability…). Rather than teaching me to handle a sword, however, Paya has been teaching me to throw knives and shoot a bow—both of which I’m having a surprising amount of success with. Link always scoffed at ranged weapons, saying that they are fickle with finite ammunition, and no good in close quarters. However, I quickly discovered that he is_ terrible _at archery, which may have been the truth behind his disdain. Perhaps now I will have something to teach him in the way of combat._

Hefting the bow Paya had given her, Zelda sighted down the red circle nailed to a post on the far side of Impa’s courtyard. She planted her feet exactly shoulder-width apart, turning so her side was parallel with the target.

    “You m-might laugh, but it’s very important to _look_ at what you’re shooting at,” Paya had stressed earlier that afternoon. “It seems obvious, but m-most beginners close their eyes when they fire. You c-can’t hit what you aren’t looking at.”

    Zelda drew an arrow from the quiver belted to her waist and pulled the string back to the corner of her mouth. The wind gusted slightly, cutting through the thin sleeveless tunic she wore. Paya hadn’t yet taught her to adjust for the wind, so she sent a silent prayer to the Goddess before letting the arrow fly.

    The string snapped against her exposed forearm, leaving behind a sensation of heated wire being held to her skin. She swore, dropping the bow and clapping her palm over the welt. Looking ahead, she saw that the arrow had found its mark slightly left-of-centre.

    “Almost worth the bruise,” she grumbled, picking up her bow and her cloak, which lay in a crumpled heap by her feet. She shivered slightly in the evening breeze, pulling her hood over her shorn head as she went to retrieve her arrow. To her satisfaction, it had buried itself almost halfway its length into the wooden target.

    The sound of hoofbeats caught her attention. _Link. They’ve found him._ Not bothering to put away her bow and quiver, she raced from the courtyard to the village square.

    Cuccos squawked and scattered as eight riders galloped into Kakariko, their steeds frothing at the mouth, sides heaving. Without warning, two Sheikah ninjas materialised by her side, their hands going to the hilts of their weapons. Had they been so close this whole time?

    Dorian led the company, his broad form easily recognisable atop the chestnut drafthorse he rode. But someone else sat in front of Dorian, gripping the horse’s mane. Someone slight and slender, with a ragged curtain of dirty-blond hair hanging over their shoulders…

    Zelda let out a small cry, taking a step forward as the company halted in the square, the horses kicking up clods of dirt and puffs of dust. Link was alive. She hadn’t somehow driven him into the sights of some Guardian, or to the slim mercy of a roaming band of monsters.

    One of the ninjas held out her arm, blocking her path. “Wait, your Highness. It might not be wise to approach just yet.”

    A crowd had begun to congregate in the square as the riders dismounted, their horses slick with sweat from their long journey. Hushed whispers rippled in every direction, only snippets of which reached Zelda’s ears:

    “—the Hero?”

    “No, it can’t be…”

    “—the Sheikah Slate, you see? Only he would have—”

    “—not what I expected.”

    Up close, Link had clearly run into some misfortunes during the time he’d been missing. His arm was strapped diagonally across his chest, indicating a broken collarbone. A large chunk had been torn out of his right ear. Both eyes were ringed with puffy, yellowing bruises and were unfocused, the pupils wide. They must have given him something, Zelda realised as Dorian helped him dismount. Link stumbled as his boots touched the ground, unable to stand without Dorian’s assistance. Risk be damned—Zelda pushed past her guards, rushing towards him to help.

    Link flinched.

    Zelda froze, cold despair rooting her to the ground. Hylia, could he _still_ be frightened of her? Would he ever look at her the same way again, without fear clouding his eyes?

    No, it wasn’t her—Link’s eyes, still slightly lucid, flitted around in agitation. Zelda suddenly realised just how closely the crowd was pressing in, eager for a look at the Hero. Zelda stepped towards them, holding up her arms.

    “Allow us space.” Her voice rang out across the square, silencing the murmurs. “Please, return to your homes. Hyrule’s Champion requires rest.”

    Unwilling to disobey a direct order from her, the throng reluctantly dispersed as Zelda bolted up the stairs, heaving open the heavy doors to allow Dorian and Link into Impa’s home. Dorian nodded to her as they passed.

    “You may not be queen yet,” he commented. “But you certainly play the part well, your Highness.” Zelda blushed all the way to the tips of her ears, hurrying ahead of them to alert Impa of their arrival.

    Impa and Paya hastily cleared the kitchen table, allowing Dorian a flat spot to lay Link down as Purah fetched her medical equipment from upstairs. Zelda dithered uselessly by the door, watching Link’s gaze dart restlessly around the room.

    If this had been old times, she might have held his hand. There was an ancient law that no man may touch a princess of Hyrule, but in a case like this, if it would bring Link the slightest sense of comfort, she would be inclined to break it. Unable to bear the thought of adding more distress, she hung back, stepping aside as Purah entered the kitchen, struggling under the weight of an absurdly large black box. Dorian went to help her carry it, but she turned hastily away from him, nearly toppling over.

    “Don’t!” she snapped. “Extremely… delicate equipment.”

    She set it down on the floor next to the head of the table, pressing her palm against the top of it. A glowing blue eye, identical to the one engraved into the Sheikah Slate on Link’s hip, shone for a moment before the box split in two, the top half folding back to reveal a screen. In the bottom half rested a peculiar web of thin wires in a half-sphere shape, shining blue like the eye sigil. Purah took this out, spreading it out with her fingers and bringing it towards Link’s head.

    He jerked away from her, eyes wild. Purah frowned and attempted again to fit the wire matrix over his brow, but Link thrashed even more desperately, his good hand scrabbling at the wooden tabletop.

    “Stop it!” Zelda burst out, balling her fists. “You’re frightening him!”

    Swiftly, Dorian approached the table, pulling a small purplish branch from his pouch. He carefully plucked a thorn from it, using it to pierce a raised vein in Link’s forearm. Link instantly relaxed, his face slackening. _Torpor thistle,_ Zelda thought, rubbing her wrists. _I’ve never seen it used that way._

    Purah finally got the wire cap into place, which pulsed gently as soon as it made contact with Link’s body. The black box’s screen began to fill up with scrolling glyphs that Zelda could not decipher.

    “What is that box?” Zelda asked, trying to keep a tremor from her voice. “Is that code telling you—”

    “Not now,” said Purah curtly. “Everyone out but you, sister.”

    And so they waited. Dorian stood stiffly by the kitchen door, occasionally shifting from foot to foot. Paya began polishing a curious, carved sphere displayed in the entrance hall that bore similar symbols to the ones appearing on Purah’s screen. Zelda sat slumped against the wall, finding herself suddenly exhausted.

    For a moment, the room seemed to tilt, her vision dissolving into blackness. She found herself immobilised, forced to look on in horror as a ghostly cloud solidified before her, taking on a shape not unlike that of a boar. Red lightning flashed and sparked as the beast reared back its head and gave a bone-trembling roar. Distantly, a guttural voice chanted in a language that Zelda could not understand but recognised nonetheless—it was Ganon’s own black tongue.

    A lone figure stood before the creature, the skull of some horned animal resting atop her curtain of wine-coloured hair. Her bare skin was painted with spiked, spidery symbols—the very sight of them made the hairs on Zelda’s neck rise. She held her arms over her head, seeming to reach out in adoration to the beast.

    Ganon’s eyes, bottomless yellow pits of fire, bored into Zelda’s own. It bellowed, making the woman turn, her silvery eyes widening with surprise. She was clearly of Gerudo descent, but curiously bore the same tattoo on her forehead as Impa and Paya. Her eyes narrowed as she began to walk towards Zelda.

    _This isn’t a dream. I’ve been seen._

Zelda forced her eyes shut, the aftereffects of lightning dancing before her, Ganon’s roars barraging her eardrums…

    “ _Zelda!_ ”

    She gasped as if surfacing from a prolonged dive. Paya knelt before her, gripping Zelda’s shoulders rather painfully. Dorian was there as well, the lines in his face deepening with concern. Zelda shivered, her body stiff and soaked with sweat.

    “J-just a dream. It’s nothing.”

    “We couldn’t wake you, Princess,” said Dorian gravely. “You were rigid; whispering in tongues…”

    “You’re feverish,” Paya observed, laying the back of her hand against Zelda’s forehead. “Perhaps if you got some rest—”

    “It’s _nothing!_ ” Zelda shoved Paya’s hand away.

    Immediately, she regretted what she’d done—Paya fell back onto her heels, lower lip quivering.

    “M-my apologies,” she whispered, bowing her head. “Please excuse me, Princess.”

    “Paya, I—”

    But she had already gotten up, trotting towards the staircase with her hands over her face. Bitter tears burned in Zelda’s eyes—she scrubbed furiously at them, unwilling to cry in front of Dorian.

    “I’ll apologise tomorrow,” she said brusquely. “Is there any news on Li—the Champion?”

    Dorian shook his head, raising an eyebrow slightly at her slip. “Not yet, your Highness. I too would suggest retiring until morning.”

    Zelda sighed, squeezing her wrists. “Wake me if there is any news.”

    Dorian nodded, bidding her goodnight as she climbed the stairs. She hesitated by Paya’s room, rapping her knuckles gently on the doorframe. No answer. Swallowing hard, she eased the door open.

    Paya lay on her cot, her back turned to Zelda as she entered. She did not stir. Guilt rose in Zelda’s throat like bile as she hung up her quiver and bow, not bothering to unstring it. Stripping off her sweaty clothing, she crawled into bed, still shivering with gooseflesh that had erupted all over her back and arms.

    Despite the fact that Paya did not turn over once that whole night, Zelda felt the distinct sensation of being watched.


	4. Valley of the Snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that long wait, everyone! This chapter was very important character-wise to me, as the two featured in this chapter are my absolute favourites to write and I wanted to be sure to do them justice. 
> 
> I've been working full time as well, which leads me to the decision to update chapters every two weeks instead of weekly. It allows me more time to flesh them out and not rush to finish, which allows you all a better experience.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Chapter 4- Valley of the Snake**

    To the north of the Gerudo Desert, chiseled deep into the mountain range isolating the vast dunes of sand from the rest of Hyrule was the Karusa Valley. Once the territory of the Korsh tribe, best known for their warmongering and the stylised snakes emblazoned on their golden shields, the valley was now the stronghold of the most feared and mysterious organisation in Hyrule—the Yiga Clan.

    Or so they had been long ago. Kohga had been born after the Calamity had ravaged the kingdom and driven all surviving citizens to the corners of the kingdom, but the stories of the Yiga’s glory had been passed down to him through his grandmother.

    Every night, after drilling with his peers and being personally tutored by one of the Blademasters, Kohga would eagerly rush home to help Grandmother Halar with supper in exchange for another tale of triumph. One night, it might be the story of the Zora queen’s assassination. Another night might be the battle for Karusa Valley—a decisive victory for the Yiga that had all but eliminated the Korsh warlords’ reign they had held for more than six hundred years, allowing the Clan to create the stronghold that Kohga now lived in.

    But one evening, Kohga heard a tale that was unlike any of the others Grandmother had told before. Despite the thirty-some years that had passed, he remembered it perfectly: the rich scent of the stew he’d helped prepare, the ache of his bones from sword practice, and the way the lines around Grandmother Halar’s eyes deepened with the weight of the Yiga Clan’s ultimate failure.  

    “The princess’ inability to keep Ganon from emerging provided the perfect opportunity for us,” said Grandmother, easing herself into the carved wooden chair across from Kohga. “For countless generations, our ancestors fought for a simple cause—to destroy those who forced us into exile and to remake Hyrule in Ganon’s image.”

    Kohga recalled squirming a little whenever Ganon was mentioned—he had never quite understood devotion to any sort of extraterrestrial being, whether it was Ganon or the Goddesses.

    “I was stationed at a remote outpost at the base of the Hebra Mountains when my company received urgent orders to move east. The messenger informed us that Hyrule Castle had fallen, and that Master Fiow—our leader at the time—was summoning all available fighters to Central Hyrule to prepare for a military coup.”

    “But what happened?” Kohga had asked. “You said last night that the Yiga Clan’s power was greater even than—”

    “Fiow failed to understand the circumstances under which the castle had fallen.” Grandmother’s eyes had gone distant then, seeing far past Kohga. “The plan was to besiege Fort Hateno, where the last of those loyal to the crown had fled. …But we could not penetrate even the borders of Greater Hyrule. The Sheikah’s ancient army of machines intended to battle Ganon had gone mad, destroying everything and everyone in their paths.”

    At this, Grandmother Halar lifted the bottom of her tunic to expose her navel—or at least where it should have been. The skin of her abdomen was horrifically twisted into a knot of white scar tissue the size of a man’s fist. Kohga felt faint, bile rising in the back of his throat.

    “I was one of the lucky ones,” said Grandmother bitterly, letting the hem fall to conceal her disfigurement. “I was hit from far away. At close range, those beams of white light could punch straight through a person’s torso.”

    And so Hyrule had collapsed into near extinction, countless victims of all races and affiliations falling to the wrath of the ancient machines. Grandmother recounted the Sheikah’s victory at Fort Hateno (which, Kohga had to grudgingly admit, had most likely saved the realm from complete annihilation), and the Yiga’s limping retreat back to the Karusa Valley.

    Grandmother Halar had passed away less than a year after that final tale, but the memory of the glorious force of chaos that the Yiga Clan had once been infected Kohga’s mind. It nagged at him as he moved up through the ranks, ate at him as he watched his men return wounded from yet another fruitless raid— _we could be so much more._

As leader of a broken army, Kohga’s main priority was keeping up morale. It was easy for him to keep a level head—he had a cushy office to spend his time in, a comfortable bed with a real feather mattress, not straw, and a square two meals every day. It wasn’t so easy for the grunts; after all, they were the ones giving their sweat and blood for these failed raids.

    Failure was acceptable so long as nobody knew about it—or better yet, if it could be retold in such a way that it became a victory. If a company returned empty-handed from a raid, then it never was a raid. It was a reconnaissance mission all along, and the fact that the company had managed to breach the walls of Gerudo Town meant that the mission was a success.

    Kohga wasn’t naïve enough to believe that this ruse would last forever. It was an unfortunate reality that people died on these missions, and that fighters were no longer as dispensable as they had been back in the day. Eventually, his followers would grow discontented and possibly even rise up against him.

    The botched raid had indeed yielded some useful information—Kohga was now aware of another entrance into the palace of the Gerudo chief. But how to put this information to use?

    The wooden seat creaked under Kohga’s weight as he eased himself into it, groaning as his joints crackled. He gazed at the walls of his office, which were decorated with the masks of all previous Yiga leaders. His eye fell onto the mask of Master Shola—an intimidating thing wreathed with twisted black horns and dark, yawning eyeholes. She had been among the first Yiga leaders, rumoured to have started their ongoing war against the Gerudo by stealing their most precious heirloom: the Thunder Helm. It allegedly allowed the wearer to control a mysterious force called _electricity,_ striking down any enemies with bolts of white light from the heavens.

    Kohga sat up a little straighter in his chair. If such an item would be anywhere, it would be inside the palace. He rubbed his hands together, heart fluttering with excitement. The glory of looting the chief’s home alone would be enough to sustain morale for months, but if they managed to bring home the Thunder Helm as well…

    Kohga’s feat would go down in history, his mask being hung alongside those of heroes such as Shola.

    A sharp cry came from somewhere outside Kohga’s door, disturbing him from his reverie. Despite age and indolence, Kohga’s battle instincts had him on his feet with his blade drawn and mask lowered within a second. He pointed the short sword at the doors, all aches and pains drowned out by a rush of adrenaline.

    A thud against the wall. Another wail.

    The door banged open as a trio of grunts toppled onto his office floor, landing in a tangled heap. Kohga bent slightly at the knees, prepared to vault his desk to meet his attacker.

    A tall, blunt-featured woman strode into the room, sidestepping the unconscious bodies as her flag of red hair billowed behind her. She was clad in a simple black robe and held the sword of one of Kohga’s personal guards. Her knuckles were bloody from the skirmish.

    Kohga sheathed his sword, barely able to contain his annoyance. “Bruelia. I thought I’d made it clear that I’m not seeing anyone today.”

    The Gerudo woman tossed the confiscated blade onto the floor with a clatter. “I have news.”

    “Listen,” said Kohga, placing his palms on the desk. “You can’t waltz in here whenever you feel like it. I’m in the process of—”

    “It can’t wait,” said Bruelia bluntly.

    “It’ll have to!” Kohga blustered. “I’m planning a military operation to infiltrate Chief Riju’s palace and steal the Thunder Helm! Needless to say, it’s a very delicate business and I don’t have time for interruptions. “

    Bruelia’s eyes cast about the room, her gaze landing on Kohga’s empty desktop. “I see. Do you usually plan military encounters without consulting a single map?”

    Kohga lowered himself into his chair, fuming. Bruelia certainly was a striking specimen with her silvery blue eyes and lustrous hair, but she was entirely too mouthy for his taste.

    “Allow me to share my news.” Bruelia perched herself on the edge of Kohga’s desk, crossing her bronzed legs. “Princess Zelda is currently residing in Kakariko Village.”

    Kohga laughed derisively. “Impossible. She perished alongside the other Champions a century ago, after imprisoning Ganon in the ruins of Hyrule Castle.”

    “Not so.” Bruelia leaned closer, her eyes burning with an icy fire. “The princess has been trapped within the castle too, as much a prisoner to Ganon as he was to her. The Hero lives as well. He freed the princess and they fled together to Kakariko Village.”

    Kohga sat back in his chair, rubbing his palms together. He was fully aware that Bruelia sometimes experienced visions—she often claimed that Ganon himself had whispered into her ear since she was a child, allowing her impossible knowledge.

    The simple truth was that he did not trust her. Bruelia had never made a secret of her disdain for him, mocking his leadership at any opportunity. In fact, the last time she’d stood before him she had called him a “doddering, aging fool desperate for some shred of glory.” At least she hadn’t insulted him so far.

    “The princess will be heavily guarded,” Kohga mused. “Every Sheikah, even the children, are trained to fight. I’m not sure it would be a good idea to send any assassins.”

    “And the Thunder Helm is not heavily guarded?”

    “That’s different!” Kohga snapped. “At least we know what we’re up against in Gerudo Town. There’s no way we could muster up a company large enough to take on the Sheikah _and_ march them across Hyrule without being murdered by Guardians, let alone being spotted before they reach Kakariko.”

    Bruelia rose to her full height, towering over him. “All I hear are excuses,” she hissed, her gaze glinting with steel. “Have you forgotten the Yiga’s original intent, Kohga? Have you forgotten your vow to annihilate all who oppose Ganon’s will?”

    Kohga slammed his fists into the desktop. “Don’t lecture me, woman. Last I checked, _I_ am the leader of the Yiga Clan. Out of the two goals, which seems more attainable—capturing a Gerudo heirloom, or assassinating Princess Zelda, a feat we couldn’t achieve even at the peak of our military strength?”

    “Zelda will not stay in Kakariko forever,” Bruelia countered. “It’s true that I am not the leader of the Yiga. However, I would _suggest_ , as a humble follower, that you contact your informant in the village and plot a move once she leaves the safety of the Sheikah’s homeland. Our numbers may be small, but so are theirs. With enough patience, there will surely be an opening for us to take advantage of.”

    It was a good idea. If only it hadn’t come from his most formidable rival.

    “Very well,” Kohga relented. “But until I hear back from the informant, I’m going ahead with the plot to steal the Thunder Helm.”

    Bruelia shrugged, disarmingly casual. “As you wish. Would you like me to fetch you a map?”

    “No,” said Kohga, needled. “You’re dismissed.”

    Bruelia headed for the door, delicately skirting around the grunts whom, at last, were beginning to stir. She stopped in the doorway, running her fingers over the sigils set into the wood.

    “I have not seen you at the Shrine of the Boar in several months, Kohga,” she said airily. “Beware. I have heard whispers that the great Yiga leader has been slipping from his faith in Ganon.”

    There wasn’t a single doubt in Kohga’s mind over who had been the source of those rumours.


	5. Interlude- Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude to tide you over as I work on the next chapter. This will likely appear in later chapters of this work, so if you care about any minor spoilers, be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I've been having a some trouble completing the next chapter, so I thought I might share the scene that came to me and made me want to write this story in the first place. With that said, you may want to skip this if you care about spoilers for this story. If not, read on!
> 
> As you might remember from the previous chapter, since coming out of the Resurrection Shrine, Link has been unable to speak. This makes communication incredibly difficult, leaving Zelda feeling quite isolated and alienated from him. But what if there's another way to speak without words?
> 
> That's all I'll say for now. Please let me know what you think!

**Interlude- Embers**

    They camped further upstream where the water was gentle and deceptively still, the powerful current running along the bottom of the river like a deadly serpent lying in wait to catch its prey unaware. Zelda did not question Link’s decision to settle there for the night—since it took so long for him to respond, Zelda had stopped asking questions altogether. In the old days, the riverbank would be ringing out with banter. Zelda would argue that the thunderous rapids downstream would mask their presence from any enemies, while Link would point out that they would be vulnerable to an ambush as they wouldn’t hear any attackers approaching in the night.

    The river was a smooth green mirror, reflecting the quarter moon as it peered down on them through the clouds. Link crouched close to the fire, steadily turning the skewer of rabbit meat and apple chunks. Zelda sat by the open flap of their tent, pretending to examine the Sheikah Slate. Link’s profile was perfectly silhouetted by the flames, casting him into equal parts shadow and warm glow. She felt compelled to take a photograph but worried he might turn at just the wrong moment and see her. Not like before when he’d actually pose anytime the Slate was directed at him…

    Ignoring the ache in her chest, Zelda found herself staring at the small leather-bound book tied to Link’s belt. He never let that book out of his sight these days, as it was his only way to communicate now. One of the horses nickered, making Zelda’s mind drift to thoughts of a stablehand she had known named Ashla. She had been mute like Link, althoughin her case it was due to deafness. Had she also owned such a book?

    Zelda sat up a little straighter, the Sheikah Slate falling to her lap. Ashla had come from a peasant family like most stablehands—she wouldn’t have known how to read or write. So how would she have made her thoughts known?

    A sudden memory flashed before her mind’s eye. The stablehands never talked amongst themselves in her presence out of respect, but one day Ashla had her back turned as Zelda had entered the stable. The others dropped to one knee, and that was when Ashla had realised that Zelda was there. But just before, Ashla had been making shapes with her fingers, as if she were spelling out words in the air.

    Zelda clambered to her feet, striding over to the fire. Link looked up and pointed to the skewer, shaking his head. _Not ready yet._

“I know,” said Zelda, waving her hand. “Do you remember Ashla? The deaf-mute girl?”

    Link pursed his lips, raising an eyebrow. Zelda shook her head impatiently, pinching the bridge of her nose.

    “Right. No matter. I was just thinking about how cumbersome it must be for you to write everything you want to say. But what if you could simply say it with your hands?”

    Link’s other eyebrow followed the first. Zelda hurried to explain:

    “Think of when someone waves hello,” she said, wiggling her fingers to demonstrate. “It’s essentially a symbol for the verbal expression of ‘hello’. If we could come up with a series of hand signals to represent certain words… Link. Are you listening?”

    Link stared out across the river, squinting slightly. His hands trembled, their dinner dangerously close to slipping from his fingers and into the flames.

    “Link?”

    His eyes widened. Shoving the skewer into her hands, Link unwound the twine attaching the book to his belt and furiously scribbled inside it with a pencil stub. He held it up, urgently tapping the page.

    _Ashla. I remember._

Zelda felt a bubble of warmth expanding in her chest, making tears prick at her eyes. “You do? You really remember?”

    He nodded eagerly, scrawling another, longer message.

    _She used to help me care for the knights’ horses when I was a page. She talked with her hands and showed me how to do it._

Zelda grinned, moisture welling in her eyes as Link beamed back. “Well that settles it. As soon as we eat, you’ll have to teach me everything you remember.”

    It was slow going, as Link had to write down every translation of his finger movements. They focused on the essentials first: by midnight, Zelda had learned _Yes_ and _No_ , the sign equivalent of a question mark, _Stop_ , and _Be Quiet_. Although Link would be the one using these signals, Zelda practised the movements herself, hypothesising that she would memorise the meanings faster.

    Once they realised the fire had burned down to embers, Zelda decided to retire for the night. As she stood, dusting off her trousers, she realised Link was looking at her. Not looking, but _staring_ , his eyes wide and guileless, illuminated by the dim glow of the fire. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

    “Goodnight, Link.”

    He raised his hands to shoulder height, hesitating for a moment. He then touched his fingers to his chin, followed by crossing his hands one over the other. A peculiar lump formed in Zelda’s throat.

    “Does that mean _Goodnight_?”

    He nodded, quickly looking away. As he stirred the coals with the skewer, Zelda could swear the tips of his ears were pink.

    Zelda lay awake for a long time, listening as the stream slipped over the rocks, the embers popped and crackled, and the horses occasionally chuffed and shuffled their feet. For a moment, she could almost pretend that it was one hundred years ago: that they were on their way back to Castle Town, that Link wore the blue tunic she had made for him, and that there might be a slight chance that out here in the wild, away from the prying eyes and whispers of the servants, they might share some secrets or even create some new ones.

    Link’s memory was returning. Was she ready for him to remember everything?


End file.
